IFound My Father
by Solisortiri
Summary: When his father shows up after a 15 year absence, Freddie is elated, but as his Dad brings about situations that no good Father ever should, Freddie finds himself catapulted into danger with a man he can't trust and absolutely no way out. Majorly edited.
1. Prologue

**A/N: This is the same story as _Of Fathers_, but when I realized I wasn't getting any reviews because my chapters were too short and uninteresting on their own, I decided to squish three of them together and make a more enjoyable chapter for all of you. If you were actually reading _Of Fathers_, there is some stuff about two thirds of the way down that you haven't read yet. Anyway, enjoy the story and reviews are greatly appreciated. :)**

* * *

There has always been a hole in the Benson household. It is not tangible. It cannot be felt, looked through, or even repaired. It is the place where there should have been a father, a good leader for a son who grew up almost never noticing the hole where he should have been. Sometimes, though, Freddie Benson, idly wandering through the house, looking at the pictures of him and his mother mounted on the wall, wonders what it would be like to have his father's face grinning back at him from inside the dark, wooden frames. He doesn't know what his father would look like, but his eyes would be warm, and his smile would be wide, and his hands would be strong and powerful and perfectly bent to nestle his nine year old son's hand that year of the Father-Son Picnic Freddie had to attend with Carly and her father. It is only sometimes, though, because Freddie Benson is one of the few teenagers who can look you in the eye and boldly say he is perfectly happy with his life, but sometimes he can't help but wonder. The hole, even though it is usually unseen, goes deep. It stretches and yawns, dangerous because most of the time, no one notices it is there. And perhaps, just perhaps, that is the reason his mother is always so careful with him. If she leaves him unsupervised, Freddie Benson just might find himself falling in.


	2. iEmail

**AN: I rewrote chapter one. I reread what I had before after reading a very helpful review and I realized that the story was moving too fast. I also didn't like certain components of it. So here it is once again. I have about three subscribers right now...so if you are one, I hope you don't hate what I've done to the story but I feel it's an overall improvement. The plot is still basically the same, just with some adjustments. :)**

It's winter in Seattle. Freddie Benson pulls his thin grey hoodie closer to his body and curses himself for not thinking ahead. He is cold and wet, freezing rain pouring from the sky and smashing into the ground like bullets from a machine gun. If he were an easy bruiser, he would, without a doubt, have purplish blotches forming on his shoulders and back, turned up to the sky because he is hunched over as he runs home. The last thing he needs is to get sleet in his eye. Sure, it's just water, but that stuff _hurts._

The sidewalk is starting to flood and he can feel the bottom of his blue jeans become heavier, absolutely water logged. They flap around and stick to his ankles uncomfortably, the half melted sleet seeping through his socks and chilling him to the bone. He is officially losing all feeling in his feet. Actually, he's losing feeling in nearly all of his body. The water is finally soaking through his hoodie to his polo shirt, and then to his skin. As he passes a bus stop he desperately wishes he had some money on him to take the bus home. As it is, he recently spent every last dime on some improvements to his tech system and is left literally penniless. It is still about three blocks until he'll be at his and Carly's apartment and he is dying to be warm again.

He picks up the pace, sprinting, splashing through puddles he would have previously avoided because at this point, he really has nothing to lose. He breathes out a sigh of relief (and a visible puff of air) when he reaches the main doors. Lewbert screams at him for dripping all over his shiny new floors but he ignores him and books it up the stairs. His joints are less nimble than usual. They are frozen over and so are his fingers, so he fumbles with his house keys before he finally lets himself in. Freddie kicks off his shoes and makes a mad dash to the shower, running the water as hot as it can go before stepping in under the spray. His skin feels like it is burning, but at the same time it is excruciatingly cold. He stays in the shower for a very long time, but he is never quite comfortable. He'll blame the weather, but it's just one of those days when absolutely nothing feels right.

* * *

Freddie decides to check iCarly's email when he leaves the shower. It is Saturday, the day after the show, and there is bound to be a million new videos and suggestions sent in. Perhaps he'll find something exciting in that endless list. He skims through each email, watching bits of videos and usually exiting out early because they're extremely boring. He's lost count of how many videos there are of mediocre singers who think iCarly is some American Idol equivalent. He is exasperated as he closes out of one where the girl was not even close to sounding good – heck, she wasn't even close to sounding human.

He is about to give up when something catches his eye. The subject of the email is not "Luv Ur Show!" or "U Suk!" or even "Ur Cool" like he's used to seeing. Instead it just reads "Freddie", and that in itself, of course, strikes his curiosity. He clicks on the email quickly, and skims the contents, as is standard procedure. His eyes widen, his mouth drops open the tiniest bit, and he goes back and rereads it again. And again. And again.

The email is from a man named Dennis Beale. He is thirty eight years old and travels a lot for his business. He has watched iCarly quite a few times and enjoys the show. More important than all of that: he claims he is Freddie's father.

Now the email itself is quite short, but Freddie sits there for at least fifteen minutes, gazing at the words and absorbing what they mean until he is has read them so much they lose all meaning. At that point, he sits back in his chair and stares into space, taking it all in. His first thought, obviously, was "this is a lie". It might have been a cruel prank played by some kids at school…except for the fact that he never mentions his lack of a father to anyone. He is not ashamed of that fact - depressed about it, yes, ashamed, no. It is just not relevant to a single conversation he has had. The Shays know, and Sam and Gibby…but that is about it. Freddie cannot imagine a way they found out either, so the whole prank idea is pretty much out of the question. He also has too much faith in the human race to imagine that a teenager would be cruel enough to play this kind of a joke.

If the kids who go to his school do not know, then there is no possible way that the iCarly viewers know…well, except for Mandy, but she is too nice to do something like that, so it rules out a cruel prank by the viewers too. It certainly would not be one of his friends. Sam is the only one nearly mean enough to do that, but she is missing a Dad too and she knows how much it hurts. If it's not a prank, then there is the possibility it could be a trap for someone who has found out a lot about him and wants to kidnap him. But Freddie knows Carly or Sam would probably be the first choice and he isn't vain enough to even bother considering that possibility for more than thirty seconds. It makes him shudder anyway.

And so, optimistically, Freddie looks at the last option. His father, this Dennis Beale, has found him at last and he wants to know his son. That possibility shines so brightly for him, even though the chances of it really being his father are rather dim. He hesitates a moment longer and then copies and pastes the text onto Microsoft Word. He records the email address as well, and saves the file to his computer. Then he deletes the message from the iCarly inbox and logs off the account. He will send his response from his personal account and tell his father never to send another email to the iCarly account. Carly and Sam don't need to know about this, he decides. He is usually fairly honest, but something about this new development seems too intimate to pass on to his friends…right away, at least. He'll tell them one day. He almost feels bad about not sharing it, as he stares at the inbox void of one particular message. But he would have deleted it anyway. There is no reason for Sam or Carly to read his personal emails to his father.

Freddie logs into his own account and pulls up a new message screen. He runs his fingers over the keys a few times, listening to the soft clicking sound each one makes when put under a tiny bit of pressure. Then he begins. His fingers are stiff at first, almost as awkward as the words he sees appearing on the screen. He rewrites the email several times, before finally he is a little satisfied with it. For all his effort, it is extremely short – only a few sentences. Any more would have been strange, though. This is his first email and it is not his place to spill his entire life story, even if it is his father. He hesitantly clicks send and imagines the email shooting across the internet to wherever his father is. He stretches his fingers, cramped from so much typing and backspacing and typing. He moves to his bed and lies down, eyes closed as he thinks long and hard. In a few minutes, or a few hours, or even a few days (though hopefully it will not take that long) his father will respond to him. Freddie has no idea what they'll say to each other in these emails – they'll share their life, he supposes. He cannot wait to hear all about his father, and for his father to hear all about him.

_

* * *

_

On Monday Freddie is jumpy. He had very little sleep the night before for reasons obvious to only himself. The dark circles under his eyes announce that he should be lethargic and lazy, but he is moving like a rabbit, jerking and twitching.

"Have too much caffeine this morning?" Carly asks him after a few minutes of watching him watch everyone very closely.

"Huh?" is his only reply. For once, he has a hard time paying attention to what Carly has to say. He is not hanging on to her every word or watching the way her eye lashes flutter when she asks a question.

"Caffeine…did you have too much?" she repeats. Her tone is somewhere between amused and annoyed.

"Ah…no, nothing like that," Freddie answers.

"Then what's got you so worked up?" Apparently, Carly has decided to be amused. There is a giggle to her voice and she swings her school bag over her shoulder and crosses purple sleeved arms, expecting an interesting answer.

"Nothing…I just couldn't sleep last night," he answers truthfully.

"Overtired?" it's a bit of a let down, Carly must admit. She was hoping for something more entertaining than a light case of insomnia, but she responds anyway.

"Yeah, I guess I am," Freddie answers. As soon as he senses the conversation is over, his mind is back to wandering. His eyes flick back and forth, observing every student and trying to remember anything he knows about their fathers. He is curious now. He considers asking Carly about her father, but he already knows what he does for a living, what Carly likes to do with him when he can come to visit – everything. Well, everything worth sharing, anyway. He can't ask anyone about fathers, actually. It's just as well, though. Every father is different and he will learn to handle his in his own way. Freddie briefly tries to clear his head of thoughts of his father, not because he does not want to think of him per say, but more because he needs to be able to concentrate today. He has a geometry test next period and even though he is excellent at math, he does need to be able to think about what he's doing to do it. Still, he finds that he cannot just shake Dennis Beale from his head. He supposes it will have to do to try to keep him at the back of his mind until he next gets the chance to check his email in private. Hopefully there is a reply.

_

* * *

_

It is exactly as Freddie hoped. When he sneaks his phone out during lunch to check his emails there is one new message and it is from his father. It is short and sweet. It offers little information, but it is valuable information. The email tells him what Dennis Beale does for a living (salesman), when his birthday is, things like that. Perhaps it is not very useful, but it is definitely very important to Freddie because it is about his Father. He quickly responds, telling his father his own birthday, though perhaps his father already knows it, and what subject he likes in school the most. He briefly considers telling his father where he goes to school, but he has not revealed any information as to where he is, so Freddie supposes neither should he. He will just mirror his father until he feels bold enough to bring up something his father hasn't yet.

"Hey, what's that?" a high pitched voice asks above him. Freddie looks up to see Carly peering down at him. Her black hair frames her face perfectly and hangs down in soft curls over her shoulders. Her eyes are wide and curious.

Freddie forgets the situation for the briefest moment before he blurts "nothing!" and shoves his phone back into his bag.

"Woah! Okay, okay. If you don't want me reading stuff on your phone that's fine, but don't kill it!" Carly laughs, and if she is annoyed at all by Freddie's actions it does not show.

"Sorry, you just surprised me. You know how I'm really jumpy today," Freddie smiles sheepishly and returns to the paper bag on the table in front of him. He has not eaten from the cafeteria since last month, when he found a band aid in his macaroni and cheese. Occurrences like that are apparently normal in their school, but that doesn't make it any less disgusting.

"Run and tell that," Carly responds and opens her own bagged lunch. There is no way she is risking finding a band aid in her food. "What were you doing on your phone anyway?"

"Oh, it was nothing, it's just, that, like, I mean…my mom texted me," he lies and it is not smooth at all. There is no possible way Carly will ever believe that now.

"Embarrassing?" she questions. She definitely suspects Freddie is lying, but if he doesn't want to tell her she supposes she'll give him the benefit of the doubt…for now. She hates to be a nagger, though she finds herself falling into that activity much more often than she'd like. She's trying to avoid it though. At any rate, she lets the lie slide and plays along with his story.

"Yeah…I'd tell you how…but you know, embarrassing," Freddie pulls a ham sandwich out of his bag and bites into it, effectively silencing the conversation for a bit of time. When it reopens, the topic has changed to Spencer's latest sculpture and Freddie is safe.

_

* * *

_

The sleet is colder, wetter, and more powerful than it was when he was walking home on Saturday. Again, he is caught outside in only a hoodie and sneakers. He missed the bus because he was too busy emailing his father. Today, however, he finds he does not really mind walking home. His father is obviously also available to email at the moment, so the two message each other as Freddie walks home. He worries a bit for the wellbeing of his PearPhone, but it is water resistant and he really needs to speak to his father…or at least…who he _thinks_ is his father. It has taken him about five email messages, but Freddie Benson has realized that he has been emailing someone he doesn't know who may or may not be pretending to be his father. He tries to think of a way to find out. Obviously he can't ask Dennis Beale, because Dennis will say yes. He can't really ask his mother either because he has a very strong feeling she will completely freak out, and usually Freddie's predictions of his mother's actions are frighteningly accurate. He turns the issue over in his mind as he approaches his apartment. He can no longer email back because his fingers are absolutely frozen and he has lost the dexterity to type. Once again, he hits the shower first thing when he gets home and considers how to respond to the next email.

The answer is clear when he steps out. His mother is working an extra shift tonight, so she will not be home until nine o'clock (half an hour past Freddie's bedtime). She has a tote of papers and other things under her bed that Freddie has seen but never been allowed to look through or even touch. Whatever is inside must be very personal. Freddie feels horrible about his plan, but he has to know. There _must_ be something about his father in there somewhere.

After drying off, Freddie sneaks into his mother's room and drags the tote out from the perfectly clean underside of the bed. He removes the lid and peers down at its surprisingly messy contents. The papers are not neatly folded or tucked into envelopes like he'd predicted. Instead, there is loose leaf and stationary paper scattered throughout the bin and colourful sticky notes litter the pile like pieces of fallen confetti. The good news is: if the tote is already this messy, there is no way his mother will be able to tell he was looking through it. Inspired by this fact, Freddie removes the top layer of papers to unveil what lies under it. There is a lot of stuff in here, and it is going to take Freddie a while to make his way through it all. He glances at the clock: it reads four o'clock. He has time.

Most of the paper consists of old notes from what appears to be Spanish class. Freddie doesn't know why his mother would go to such lengths to keep him from looking at this box if it's just a bunch of notes from school.

It continues like that for a while. The box appears to be full of trivial things. He keeps digging. A blue box catches his eye.

"What's this?" he murmurs, lifting it up to observe it. "Ribbed…with lube…OH MY GOD!" He cries, flinging the box across the room as if a rattlesnake had just popped out of it. "EW!" Freddie rubs the hand that touched the box vigorously against the carpet in a futile attempt to make it feel cleaner. He cannot believe his mother still has a box of most likely expired condoms under her bed. Ew. Just ew. He notes with more disgust that the box opened when it hit the wall. Now he will have to put them back in the box or something like that…he's going to have to touch them. Oh God. Ew. He decides to ignore that unhappy fact for now.

Cautously, Freddie presses on, looking at everything thoroughly inside the tote before removing it. He does not need a repeat of what just happened. He is nearing the bottom when he encounters a black, leather book settled comfortably in a nest of loose papers. He takes it out slowly. The front reads "Diary" in fancy lettering. This is wrong. He should not be looking through his mother's personal things and he most definitely should not even be _considering_ looking through her diary – the most personal thing a girl owns, he is sure. Still, he has to know about his father and it is not as if he will ever bring up anything he reads in the diary. He'll be fine and she'll be fine and what his mom doesn't know won't hurt her, right?

Freddie is not sure, but, upon noting the lock is a cheap one that can easily be picked with a bobby pin, screw driver, or even sometimes a pen lid, he unlocks the diary easily and opens it up to the first page. The writing is neat, all full of loops and swirls. His mother's writing has changed to a flattened, half printed, less bubbly version of what it was when the diary was written. Deducing from the year she has at the top of her diary page, Freddie concludes that she was sixteen when she started writing. The ink is faded slightly, giving the passages a special sort of mood to them. It really feels like he is diving into his mother's past, whether she wants him there or not. It seems as though he is become involved in both his parents' lives more than ever.

His eyes skim the pages for the name Dennis Beale. He sees nothing at first, the paragraphs are only recollections of boring days at school. There is a bitch named Morgan making fun of her for fencing…she'd like to cut off her head…her mother is bothering her…normal things.

He is a third of the way through the book when the name Dennis Beale finally appears. His heart skips a beat and he reads each word thoroughly, much like he did with the first email. This is important and it requires all his concentration.

_January 9__th_

_ There's a new boy at school. His name is Dennis Beale. He moved here from another school; he won't say why, but judging from the fact that he drives a motorcycle and wears leather…I'd say he was expelled. I know my mom wouldn't approve of him, but I think he's cool. I wonder if I'll ever get the chance to talk to him._

_January 17__th_

_ He talked to me today! Dennis spoke to me. He came up to me at lunch and asked if I had notes for Mr. Donald's math class. Now I know that there is no possible way he would study, I mean, he drives a motorcycle and he cuts class _all the time._ If he actually did care he might go to school once in a while. I'm pretty sure that means he was just looking for an excuse to talk to me, and I cannot tell you how awesome that feels. Maybe it's too soon to think like this, but I definitely would not mind being his girlfriend._

_January 26__th_

_ Dennis and I talk every day now. We sit together at lunch and, dare I say it, flirt! I have a feeling he's going to ask me out soon. We can both sense it between us, I'm sure. It's love, or something like it._

_February 1__st_

_ He asked me out. We're going on a date tonight and I'm just jotting this down before I leave. We'll just be going to see a movie, but I have a feeling we might sit in the back. It's not like me to make out on the first date, but I've only dated one boy before and mother set us up. Dennis is bringing out a side of me I never knew existed! Maybe this is the real me, getting badder and badder._

_February 14__th_

_ I went out with Dennis again tonight. And I was right about the first date, too. We just sat and kissed all through the movie. He took me out again tonight. This time it was dinner and then I suggested we go for coffee at the little Café near the restaurant. Instead he offered to take me to the bar. My mother would have had a conniption! She says I can't ever drink alcohol but that's just stupid. So I agreed. He has a fake I.D. that says he's twenty and he knows the bartender really well, so he was allowed to stroll right in with me. Beer has an interesting flavour to it, by the way. I liked the scotch better. I only had a few sips of both, because it would be so embarrassing if I found out I had low alcohol tolerance and got drunk on my second date with Dennis. We sat in the bar making out and he got a little more feely than he did on the first date, but I don't really mind. It's exciting._

_March 25__th_

_ I've been going out with Dennis for nearly two months now. He asked me out again for Saturday night. We're going to a pretty classy restaurant that's more expensive than I'm used to eating at. He suggested we go to his place afterwards. His parents aren't home and we can do whatever we want. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what he wants. I'd almost say we're progressing a little too fast. Still, I feel like Dennis really loves me. We have such perfect chemistry together! And he's taken me out so many times and given me so many new experiences…it'd just be wrong not to give him a little of myself in return. It might be against my better judgement, but I'm doing this. I'm excited for Saturday. Even if it's a bad decision, I can handle it. You know? Maybe I'm wrong, but maybe I'm ready._

_May 19__th_

_ I'm scared. I missed my period. I don't know what to do._

_May 21__st_

_ The pregnancy test came back positive._

_June 1__st_

_ He left me. He left me and my baby. It's his baby too. You won't hear me ever mention Dennis Beale again. I'll be more careful next time._

The entries end there. Obviously, Freddie's mother decided to keep him, or he would not be here today. He glances at the clock and, noting that it is six thirty, closes and locks the diary, placing it at the bottom of the tote before dropping the papers on top of it. His eyes scan the room for anything he missed and realizes he left the spilled box of condoms in its place by the wall.

"Ew…" he murmurs, half crawling, half walking over to where it lies. "…They're cherry flavoured."

Shaking mental images he does _not_ need out of his head, Freddie hastily shoves the square packets back inside the box and throws it into the tote. He finishes by covering it with more papers until it is unnoticeable that he has even touched it. With a little effort, he pushes it back under the bed and dusts himself off. His father might not have been the kindest to his mother, but Freddie understands that he must have been young and scared. He will bring it up sometime soon and ask exactly why Dennis ran and why he did not come back sooner. For now, though, he leaves the room and switches off the light, heading to his own. He has an email to send.

**AN: I hate to be a review whore but...they do make me happy. :)**


	3. iText

**AN: First of all I would like to mention that this chapter is written in past tense. The first one was written in present test. I am really sorry for the change. I hate it when authors do that and I'm very disappointed in myself for doing the same. I just found that while I think the present tense writing seems deeper, the past tense writing feels a lot closer and, I think, more natural for me. So if you review you can tell me which one you like better. I'm indifferent at this point for the most part, but I just want to make sure I don't keep switching between past and present tense. If no one objects, I'll probably keep with past tense. Now here's hoping someone will actually enjoy this chapter enough to review it. **

A week later, Freddie found that the emails between him and his father had become much more frequent. They emailed each other nearly all day and well into the night. Classes became an unwelcome obstacle in their communication. As a solution, Freddie had taken to sneaking his phone into class, something which he had seen many of his peers do before, but had never done himself. It was not like him to not pay attention in class, really. He found learning to be somewhat interesting and used to figure there was nothing he _needed_ to do in class that could not wait until after. That was until he found his father, of course.

Freddie typed into his querty keyboard under his desk while the teacher got herself organized. It was second period and Sam still had not shown up. It was usual for her – sleeping in. She usually missed first period, but none after that. The girl hated school but, for reasons known only to her, chose not to cut class aside from the first of the day. It was strange, but Freddie never bothered to ask.

"Now, class, today we're studying Animal Farm, which is an allegory. Who can tell me what an allegory is?" Miss Briggs asked the class as soon as she had everything organized. A sea of bored, half closed eyes stared back at her. She sighed and ran a hand through her bleached hair. Obviously, things were going to be extra difficult today.

"Anyone? Anyone at all…" she looked around the room, trying to pick out the student most likely to know what she was talking about. "Freddie, you usually know a bit about this stuff. Can you tell me what an allegory is?"

"Huh?" he asked stupidly, glancing up from his lap, which he had been apparently staring at for the last five minutes.

"I asked what an allegory is," the woman repeated, becoming impatient.

"Oh…I don't know," he responded, dropping his head again.

"Well would you care to proffer a guess?" she tapped her foot and glared intently down at him. He did not seem to care as much as she thought he would.

"Um…" he lifted his head again. "Not really, no."

"I expect an answer from you, Fredward, and what is in your lap that is so much more interesting than my class?" she asked, striding over to him.

"Nothing!" he yelped, and moved to stuff his phone in his pocket. She was too quick, however, and he had no time to do anything but cover it with his hand.

"Nothing, huh?" Miss Briggs stared down at him, raising an eyebrow at the fingers protectively curled over whatever he was holding.

Freddie boldly stared back, "nothing."

"Look, if you just give it here right now there will be minimal consequences," she promised, but something told Freddie it was a big fat lie.

"Um…no, that's okay. I don't really want to give it up…"

"Are you back talking, Fredward?"

"No, Ma'am,"

"It sounds like backtalk to me, Mister," she replied, moving to grab at the phone.

"No, I'm sorry. What I meant to say is that I'll put it away. I promise," he moved it back into his pocket as he spoke, putting emphasis on the action to show he meant what he said.

"Alright then, since you're normally not _that_ evil."

"Thank you, Ma'am," Freddie smiled, very grateful.

"Just don't let it happen again."

"Of course."

And before any further comments can be made, evil herself waltzed into the room. Sam Pucket had her school bag carelessly slung over her shoulder and she was chomping messily on what appeared to be a heavily marinated turkey leg. Miss Brigg's attention fully diverted as she spun around and proceeded to chew Sam out on almost every aspect of her arrival. Sam lazily shrugged her off, which enraged her even more and a long lecture began on the importance of following protocol at school.

In all the hubbub, Freddie slipped his phone out again and continued to email his father. Maybe this was a bad idea, but they had just started an interesting discussion about what kind of laptop they have, and he couldn't just end it now! Freddie was sure he has his priorities straight. Family comes before everything, right? So he kept the phone on his lap and continued to speak to his father, even when Miss Briggs allowed Sam to take a seat and began droning on about Snowball and Boxer and how it is a satire of the Russian Revolution. The period passed in peace, and if anyone noticed how for once, Freddie paid no attention, they did not say a thing.

~iCarly~

"What was that all about?" Carly asked Freddie after class, as they were walking to their lockers.

"What was what about?" he responded, only half paying attention. His eyes were still locked on his phone.

Carly waited for him to finish before she spoke, irritated. "I mean you getting caught texting in class. That's not like you."

"I wasn't texting; I was emailing," he replied out, avoiding Carly's point.

"Like it makes a difference," she said. They arrived at the lockers and she quickly entered her combination.

"It's no big deal, either way," Freddie spun in his combination too.

"I guess. It's just unlike you. Anything going on lately I should know about?" and the motive behind all her questioning become clear.

"Not that I can think of," Freddie told her, turning to his locker and staring intently at its contents before grabbing his history book. And really, she had no right to know. It was his father after all.

"Are you sure?" Carly asked, making one last kick at the can before giving up for the moment.

"Yeah, I'm sure," and the conversation ended right there.

_~iCarly~_

Two days later, Dennis Beale asked a question that took Freddie by surprise. At the end of an email detailing a list of his favourite foods, the man requested his son's phone number. At first Freddie had no idea what to do. Should he give it to him? He was still a little wary of the situation, because he did not know the man very well and he did not want to make any rash decisions. He wiped at his cell phone screen and willed the cold Seattle sun to stop shining off of it. The text was difficult to read. Still, his father's request was very clear and he decided he should respond to it before he got to school. He was nary a block away and he could already see the cars lined up in front of the building – concerned mothers and fathers dropping their children off and seeing them to door after giving them a kiss good bye, even though they are in high school. With that thought, Freddie made up his mind and typed his cell phone number in quickly. He double checked it to make sure it was right and hit send. He turned off his phone and stepped into the building, kicking wet snow off his feet onto the matt in front of the door before heading to his locker.

_~iCarly~_

The only reason Freddie decided to have his phone off that day was that he did not want to risk having his father call during class. Emailing and maybe even texting he could handle, but he definitely could not talk on the phone or even cover up the ring tone during class. At lunch time Carly and Sam managed to coerce him into going to the Groovy Smoothie with them, and he obviously could not check with them around, so when he got out of school the first thing he did was turn on his phone to see what he had missed. There were two text messages, one from his mother, predictably, reminding him to eat his vegetables. Far more exciting than that, there was one from his father. Texting would not be that much different from emailing, except that it was a little faster, but it felt closer now, more like his father was a real person in his life, rather than someone so far away that it was only possible to communicate by email. He hastily texted him back and looked up at the sky, squinting into the light. Annoying it might be, perhaps this day really was meant to be sunny. He smiled as his phone vibrated in his hand, signifying that his father had texting him back. Yes, it really was.

_~iCarly~_

Freddie was surprised that night to hear his call tone sound. People didn't frequently call him and if they did it was his mother 90% of the time. He figured it was her calling to check up on him, which she did do from time to time. He pressed the answer button and raised the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" he mumbled in a bored monotone. He glanced down at his homework. He could probably do math and talk to his mom at the same time, right? It wasn't hard. He just had to nod and say yes while he worked out what 'x' is. Simple.

"Freddie?" the voice on the other end caused him to drop his pencil. It was deep, a little gravelly, very unfamiliar, and decidedly not his mother's.

"Wh-who is this?" Freddie asked, anxiety very apparent in his voice. He sat up straighter, as if that would somehow let him figure out who he was talking to.

"It's Dennis, Freddie. It's your Dad." Freddie dropped his pencil. No way! This was his father calling. He didn't know how he hadn't figured it out sooner. Obviously his father would call if they had just swapped cell phone numbers. It was only reasonable.

"Dad?" the boy repeated. Asking stupid questions had become his specialty lately, it would seem.

"Yeah," came the warm reply. His voice was musical, Freddie decided. It was the perfect voice for a father. He could imagine coming home to that voice and that voice asking him how school was and suggesting he go play catch. He could imagine that voice yelling at him for doing something stupid or reasoning with his mother to let Freddie buy a non-educational video game. He couldn't believe it: after sixteen years he was hearing his father's voice at last.

"Oh my God. How are you?" It was the first thing that came to the teen's mind, to be fair. He probably could have found a more interesting and personal question to ask if he had not been so caught off guard.

His father chuckled, a gruff, but not threatening sound. "I'm fine. I made a good sale today. How about you?"

"I'm great. We have this new sketch for iCarly. Make you sure you watch on Friday, it's gonna be great!" he chirped enthusiastically.

"Don't worry. I never miss a show," and Freddie could tell his father was telling the truth.

"I know you don't," a smile. "So is anything else new?"

"Not really. I'm doing some more travelling for my job – I'll be in California next week. It's hot there so I'm excited." Ah, so his father liked warm weather, too. That was another thing they had in common. Freddie idly wondered if Dennis hated sleet as much as he did.

"Wow, California. That does sound exciting. What do you sell, anyway?" there was a pause after Freddie's question.

His father replied slowly, "health insurance mostly. It's pretty satisfying, knowing I can help people be safe if they're ever in a crash or they get sick." The teenager beamed with pride at his father's words. What a great guy he'd been born from. He sounded honest and kind and concerned for the wellbeing of people around him.

"That does sound great," Freddie smiled and it was audible in his words. His father was already such an awesome role model for him. Why hadn't they found each other sooner?

"It is…hey listen, I have to go," Dennis blurted after a small pause.

"Oh," was all Freddie managed to get out. His disappointment was nothing short of tangible.

"But I'll call you as soon as I can!" the man promised. "It's just that I don't have a lot of minutes on my phone. Sorry."

"Oh no, it's totally okay," Freddie reassured him. "I totally understand. In fact, I'm not sure how many minutes I have left either." A lie, of course. No one ever called him. He had so many minutes left on his phone he could talk the whole night and not bat an eyelash. He wasn't sure why he had said that to his Dad – probably just to comfort him or make them seem more similar, and thus closer.

"Alright, great. I'll talk to you soon," he responded hastily.

"Yeah! You too!" A sure click followed by the dial tone proclaimed the conversation over and Freddie turned off his own phone. He set it down next to his homework and attempted to work out the next equation. It was impossible to concentrate. When Carly texted him requesting he come over, he welcomed the distraction. Hopefully whatever she had in mind for them to do would take his mind off of Dennis. And then maybe when he finally got home he'd be able to do his homework. It was doubtful, though, he realized as he dusted himself off and sauntered over to the door. This was big and it would take more than watching TV or playing Violin Hero or even throwing iced cupcakes at the wall to take his mind off of it.

When he arrived at Carly's door she greeted him with a smile and a perky "hello!" Everything about the girl was cheerful and that's what Freddie loved the most about her.

"Hey," he nodded to her, casually striding in. He looked around the room before his eyes focussed on Spencer's latest sculpture. It appeared to be a six foot tall hammer composed completely of nails. He stared at it intently, obviously not noticing the way Carly was curiously, and perhaps a little deviously, eyeing the bulge his phone made in his pocket. "So, what's this sculpture for?" He asked, interested but nonchalant.

"Oh, that one…the Seattle carpenters are having some sort of luncheon next week. They're actually trying to make it fancy so they need a sculpture for everyone to look at," she sidled up beside him and, making sure he was distracted, slowly moved her hand to his right pocket, slipping in her middle finger and thumb. She had just touched the phone when he moved away to look at the other, less complete side of the sculpture. She stumbled a bit, moving her hand away so as not to accidentally touch him. He stared at her quizzically for a second before looking at the head of the hammer. Carly reached for the phone again. This time, however, Freddie was more aware of her and he looked down to see her fingers headed for his pocket.

"Um…Carly…what are you doing?" he asked, left eyebrow raised.

"Nothing…just…I was…hey, is that a new belt?" the girl covered quickly, if not well.

"No, I've been wearing it forever," he answered. Obviously, he wasn't getting a real answer out of her.

"Oh really? Weird. I guess it just looks extra good on you today," she smiled brightly, hoping his attraction to her would distract him from the real situation.

It didn't, but he chose to divert the topic anyway. "So…what did you invite me over here for?"

"Nothing in particular," she answered. She couldn't very well tell him it was so that she could steal his phone.

"Okay then…" he looked up the hammer again, trying to think of something to talk about.

"Hey! How about we do homework? We kind of have a lot tonight," she suggested. Wow, really? Homework?

"Sure," Freddie responded. It wasn't like he was going to get it done any other way tonight.

"Let's go upstairs. Spencer should be back any minute and he is _really_ loud working on this thing," she rolled her eyes and gestured to the hammer. Freddie nodded and the two headed upstairs.

"Oh hey, do you want some coffee?" Carly queried. "We just got this new hazelnut stuff and it's really good."

"Sure," the boy shrugged. "Do you want me to help?"

"No, it's fine. I'll be back in a flash," and the girl was gone. Freddie took that opportunity to check his phone. He had a new message from his Dad. He hastily responded. Dennis' response came just as he put it back in his pocket. Freddie replied and opted to simply keep the phone on his lap. He had just responded to his Dad's latest text message when Carly came bursting through the door again, a steaming cup of cappuccino in each hand. "Hey, I wasn't sure how much sugar you like in your coffee so I just added in two. I hope you don't mind."

"No, two's perfect," he looked up at her, smiling. She made to set down the coffee on the floor, but he slipped (perhaps not so unintentionally) and spilled the mug's contents all over her friends lap.

"AAAH!" he yelped, jumping up and dropping his phone in the process. The pain was horrible. He could feel the boiling water seeping into his skin and practically cooking it.

"Oh my God, Freddie. I am so sorry!" Carly grabbed a tissue from the Kleenex box conveniently located just beside his beanie bag chair and wiped futiley at his lap. "Um…maybe you should go to the bathroom to clean up."

"Yeah," Freddie gasped through the pain, as he took a small step and winced. "Good idea. I'll be right back."

"Okay. Sorry!" Carly yelled again, watching as Freddie hobbled to the door, pulling at his pants to keep them from burning his skin.

As soon as he left she set her own mug on a nearby table and knelt down to get rid of the rest of the coffee on the floor. When that was done she looked around and noticed Freddie's phone lying innocently beside her foot. It was the object of her entire plan. She grabbed it, but had a moment of hesitation. How bad would it be for her to go snooping through his person items? She hated it when people didn't respect _her_ privacy. What made Freddie any different? Carly slowly set the phone down, but picked it up right away. If she didn't look now, this entire event would be a waste and Freddie would be suffering third degree burns for nothing. With that, she pushed a button on the phone, expecting to be taken to the message screen. Darn, the thing turned off when Freddie dropped it. No worries, though. Carly pressed the 'on' button and stared impatiently at the screen while the phone rebooted. She had just gotten to the menu screen and was about to check messages when she heard the doorknob turn. Freddie walked in, still looking down at his pants and dabbing at them with a damp paper towel.

"What are you doing with my phone?" he half ran over and grabbed it away from her.

"What? Oh, nothing, I was just drying it off!" she lied and took it from his hands, running the Kleenex in her hand over the back of it as if to prove a point.

"Oh okay, thanks then," he smiled. "Sorry for freaking out. I just wanted to make sure you weren't reading my messages or something."

Carly handed the phone back to him and he tucked it away in his wet pocket. "Why wouldn't you want me reading your messages?" She questioned, rolling up the used tissue in her hand.

"Nothing in particular, just that I don't want people invading my privacy, you know?" he straightened out his shirt and sat down in his beanie bag chair again. Then, feeling at the material to make sure he wouldn't get it wet, Freddie sank down comfortably into it again.

"Oh yeah, I totally get that, "Carly agreed, sinking down further into her own chair. There was a pregnant pause and then, "so about that math…"

"Right, math!" Freddie picked up the pencil next to him and looked over Carly's shoulder at the text book in her lap. They worked out problems for a few minutes before Freddie's phone vibrated in his pocket.

"Sorry, let me get this," he apologized as he retrieved his phone from his pants.

"Who's it from?" Carly asked, staring over his shoulder as he opened the message. Disappointingly, it was just a text from Freddie's mom, telling him to get home.

"My mom," he stated, as if Carly didn't already know. "I should probably get going now."

"Yeah, probably," Carly watched him rise from his seat and head towards the studio door. "See you tomorrow!" she yelled at him as he left.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow!" he called over his shoulder. The door closed with a resounding thud and Carly was left in the studio with nothing but homework and a mug of steadily cooling coffee. "Darn."

**AN: Any comments? Criticisms? Suggestions? Don't be afraid to point them out to me. Review if you'd like to!**


	4. iMeet

**Disclaimer: Do we really have to put those on? I'm not sure because obviously if you're writing on fanfiction you don't own the show. I mean, if you did, the stuff happening in your story would be happening in the show, right? Whatever, I'm not Dan Schneider and if I was, iCarly wouldn't be as awesome as it is now.**

Freddie takes to talking to his father every second of the day available. They speak while he is waiting for the school bus, when he gets home, and even at lunch time some days. He always hides out in an empty classroom when he does that, though, because he doesn't need Sam or Carly coming along and poking their noses into his business.

At the present moment, said boy is sitting in the English classroom. The lights are turned low and only the weak January sun stands to illuminate the greying walls and dirty floors. Freddie is located near the door, his head bent low so that one has to really look around to see him through the thick, square window at the room's entrance. It is here that he finds enough quiet and privacy to get in touch with Dennis.

"Nah, I'm not much of a sport person," Freddie admits in response to his Dad's latest question. "I don't know; they just never struck me as very interesting."

"You're not one of those skinny boys are you?" his father asks. He seemed to be mostly joking, but it is a valid question anyway. Freddie isn't quite sure of his father's build but it is probably tall and rather wide. He just seems like the kind of person to have broad shoulders and a fair amount of muscle. Perhaps it is Freddie's childish idolatry, but it is how he sees his father in his mind. Would he be disappointed if his son were scrawny?

"Nah, I'm not a toothpick. Mom feeds me right," he laughs. Only silence greets him from the other end of the phone. Slowly, Freddie realizes that this is the first time he has ever brought up his mother in their conversations.

"And your mother," Dennis says slowly. "How is she?"

"Mom? She's good. You know, she has a job and she works hard but she doesn't seem to mind too much."

"That's good. She always was a hard worker," he laughs slightly. "Did her homework while I was off doing nothing."

Freddie tittered along as well, unsure of how to play this. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, she was a good girl."

"I'll bet. She's really good about keeping things clean and getting work done and eating right…"

"How do you mean?"

Freddie chuckles a bit to himself, wondering through the bit of humour how much he should tell his dad. He knows that his mom is more than a bit obsessive when it comes to him, and while it is very endearing and it certainly makes him feel loved, it would be considered by most (and admittedly, sometimes including him) unnatural. She is incredibly overprotective to the point where he had been briefly driven out of the house, opting to live in a shabby, rundown apartment that lacked a toilet and was situated directly by the deafeningly loud elevator. He moved back eventually, but that didn't change the fact that he could have even considered that awful place better living quarters than their comfortable apartment just because of his mother. Something tells him that his father would not find his mother's behaviour sweet in the slightest. He'd probably see it as insane and unnecessary (like most people did). Despite his desire to be honest with his father always, he feels the need to lie, or at least tone it down a little so that Dennis won't feel like Freddie isn't being treated properly. The last thing Freddie wants is for him to think that his mother is a psychopath. He needs Dennis to think his home life is absolutely normal…maybe then he'd want to come visit. And then maybe he'd want to stay…

Freddie briefly shakes the thoughts out of his head. He can't be thinking about that now. Still, he sticks with the decision to tone the story down down a little. He might tell him how she demands he keep his room clean, shower every day, eat his vegetables and refrain from having too much junk food…things that every mother teaches her children. He won't tell him about the tic baths or antibacterial underwear or how she even kept him two months past his due date. That stuff just isn't normal.

"You know how moms are," he says finally. "She makes me keep my room clean and eat vegetables and won't let me eat too many burgers, stuff like that."

There is a brief silence and then, "well I guess that sounds fair. Personally, I could fix up a few of my eating habits and maybe clean up the old apartment a bit. She gives you freedom though, right? She doesn't keep you stuffed up inside the house?"

"Oh, don't worry. She gives me plenty of that." A white lie, of course. His mother lets him walk to and from school and to the Groovy Smoothie and back. He can go to the mall taking public transit because they don't own a car, and she lets him ride his bike places if he has a helmet and kneepads, but she makes sure he always has his phone on him and texts him at all hours of the day. He actually considers it a blessing that she lets him out of the house.

"Good. I wouldn't want no son of mine to live life cooped up in his mother's house. A man needs his space right, Freddie?" and there it is again. His name being said with his father's voice. There is a certain fondness to it, and Freddie's sure his father is as happy to be saying it as he is to be hearing it.

He answers, "you bet we do." His happiness is tangible, thickening the air all around him. He can feel it bubbling inside him. He's bonding with his Dad, and it is his first taste of guy talk with someone other than Spencer. It just feels so good that he's not looking to his friend's older _brother_ for advice, not that there was anything wrong with him. It's just that, in this moment, he realizes that from here on in he'll be able to ask his _Dad_ guy questions. It'll be his _Dad_ giving him dating advice (though judging by what happened with his mom, Freddie's not sure if he'd like that from him. Still, it has been sixteen years and his Dad is bound to have learned more about how to handle a woman since then). He finally has a Dad to lead him through life and teach him right from wrong and be a manly role model for him. Finally.

Just then he sees a shadow outside the door. "Sorry, Dad! I gotta go. I'm at school right now and I'm not supposed to be on my phone."

Dennis chuckles a bit before responding, "Alright. I'm glad you want to talk to me this much but don't go around breaking too many rules. It'll get you in trouble."

"Right. I'll be sure of that."

"Okay then, talk to you later, Freddie," his father says, voice warm and gentle while keeping that manly gruffness to it.

"Talk to you later, Dad," and right after he hears a click and the dial tone. A little sadly, he moves the phone into his pocket and looks down right as the door opens.

Perhaps predictably, Carly bounces in. "Where were you? Sam and I have been looking for you. We're going to Chilli My Bowl for lunch."

"Oh alright, just let me grab my stuff," Freddie replies, snatching his bag off the floor and swinging it over his shoulder in one fluid motion. He begins to stride toward the door and Carly falls into step beside him.

"So what were you doing in a dark, empty classroom in the first place?" she asks. The question is not completely uncalled for. It's a skeevy thing to be doing for anyone.

"Nothing, I just thought I'd left my book there so I went to go look for it," he says. Okay, it's not perfect but it's the first thing that popped into his head and it's better than being silent for a minute while he tries to think of a more believable excuse.

"In a dark room?" Carly replies disbelievingly. She flips her dark hair over her shoulders and raises one perfectly arched eyebrow.

Honestly, Freddie has no idea how to respond to that, so he just looks at his slightly scuffed sneakers and says nothing. Pressure on his shoulder makes him look up. Carly has one perfectly manicured hand placed beside his neck. She has stopped walking, which makes Freddie stop too and for a second there is nothing but silence.

"Freddie, what's really going on here?" she asks. The question isn't petty and it's clearly not just for snooping purposes. There is nothing but honest concern in the words and the curiosity isn't mindless, but meaningful. Her soft brown eyes stare directly into his, her glossed lips are parted slightly. She has turned so that she is facing him head on and there is no getting around her.

"Nothing," he answers. Why is he lying to her? He really has no reason to. Why shouldn't she know that he's found his father? Because she'd be overprotective too, that's why. She'd want to know too much. If he gave her an inch of the story she'd go for a mile.

"Freddie," her lips purse. She's getting annoyed. "That's a lie and we both know it."

"Carly, there is nothing going on that you need to worry about, okay? I know I've seemed a little distracted lately but it's all completely innocent and you don't need to worry a bit." It is completely innocent, isn't it? Yes, it is. He's just a teenager who has finally found his father. It's exciting and perhaps unusual, but it is definitely his father and the whole thing is nothing but innocent and danger free.

"So then tell me what it is. I know that you'd never get into anything bad, but just tell me what it is so that I know for sure that you are absolutely okay," the concern in her eyes is moving and for a second, Freddie opens his mouth and almost tells her everything. But he knows that she'd worry anyway and he just can't have that. Even worse than just her nagging, what if she told his mom? No doubt his mother holds a personal vendetta against Dennis (for a very good reason). He'd be locked inside the house for good and there is no way he could have that. Carly was mature and cared about her friends, but sometimes that meant she thought she knew what was good for them, even if she didn't and it lead her to do things that no one else wanted. Freddie remembers that time Sam told her she changed their grades and Carly went absolutely mental trying to keep it a secret. To be fair, so did he, but this is his secret to keep and he is a lot better at that. It'd just be too hard for the girl and it'd be better for everyone to keep her in the dark.

"Honestly, it's nothing. Okay?" he answers, not knowing what else he could possibly say.

"Freddie," she says slowly, placing her other hand firmly on his other shoulder and staring at him more intensely than before. "Just tell me what it is. If it's nothing you should be able to tell me what's going on. I just want to know that you're safe, okay?"

He grabs her hands, though he likes the feel of them on his shoulders, and lowers them, holding on to her wrists as he brings them back to her sides. "I can't tell you what's going on, but it's totally fine and I'm completely safe and if anything, it'll make things better for me, okay? Just trust me, Carly. Everything is alright." He releases her hands and she brings them to her backpack straps, adjusting the weight on her shoulders.

"Alright, I'll trust you. I'm just worried about you, you know? You've seemed a little distant lately and you've been glued to your phone and I don't want to be a nag or a snoop but I just want to make sure that nothing's happening that I should be worried about." She twirls her hair around her finger as she speaks - a nervous habit of hers. She offers him a small smile as she finishes, keeping herself from rambling too much like she does more often than she'd like.

"I get where your coming from. I guess I'd be worried too, but I'm fine and you'll just have to believe me," he smiles too. It's a nice moment, he decides.

"I do, Freddie."

"Anyway," he says, louder than the rest of their conversation. The halls are empty as most people are in the cafeteria or out at lunch, but they kept their previous conversation rather quiet anyway. "We should probably get to Chilli My Bowl before lunch ends."

"Yeah, Sam and Gibby are already there waiting for us; they decided to go ahead while I looked for you."

"Sam and Gibby? Together? Without other people? I hope she hasn't torn him in half yet," Freddie laughs, as the two walk down the hall together.

"I hope so too," Carly responds, also giggling, and they stride through the large double doors into the cold, Seattle weather.

_~iCarly~_

Predictably, as soon as he gets home from school Freddie is on the phone again with his father. They're talking about whatever, the specific topic of Freddie's mother long forgotten, but still echoing in his head. Should he bring it up again? No, there's no need to rush these things. For now they'll talk about more trivial things, like hobbies and friends.

"Yeah, I hang out with Carly and Sam, mostly. You know, the girls who are actually in iCarly," he says and then sips from the hot chocolate mug in his lap. He skipped his usual warm-up shower in favour of talking to his dad and a hot cup of cocoa. It's a fair trade, he decides, relating antics and anecdotes and laughing with Dennis about them.

"Those girls, huh? They're pretty, both of them," his father responds. Okay, so a comment about how they look isn't what he had hoped for, but men tend to be very visual creatures, so Freddie supposes it could only be expected. He would have preferred a comment about how they're funny or cheery or something else about their personality, but this would have to do.

"Yeah, Carly is," Freddie agrees. His crush on her hasn't faded one bit and the image of her smiling face fills his mind. "But Sam…"

His father laughs, "She's the one that makes fun of you, eh?"

Freddie blushes and is grateful that his father can't see it. "Yeah, she's the one. She's just an evil person."

"Aw, she's not evil, she's just playing with you," Dennis's voice gravels, warm and full of humour in Freddie's ear.

"Yeah, I guess I know that. I'm used to it anyway," Freddie replies. It is met with nothing but silence and Freddie briefly wonders if he did something wrong. He mentally reviews everything he has said since his father picked up the phone. Or was it something wrong with what he just said? His father doesn't like the idea of his son being picked on by a girl? But he just said that Sam was only teasing, and he sounded very okay with it. Did something happen on the other end of the line? Was it Freddie's fault?

"Sorry, it's just…I'm not too sure how to ask this but, would you mind if I visited sometime? My California trip got cut short so I can go wherever I want for a bit and there's some good paying work being offered in Seattle that I'd be all too happy to take so…" Dennis trails off, seeing no need to finish his sentence. Freddie is speechless, almost dropping his half full mug in surprise. It's entirely opposite of what he was worrying about. Not only is his father not ignoring him or mad at him like he feared, but he wants to be closer. He wants to come visit!

"That would be awesome! I mean, I'd really like that, Dad. Except…" Freddie's voice trails off slowly. He is not sure how to phrase the next part of his sentence.

"Except what?" Dennis asks, sounding confused a maybe a tiny bit worried or discouraged.

"Except you probably shouldn't come to the house. I mean, I haven't told mom that I've been in contact with you and I don't know how she'd react to you coming home."

There is a silence and then, "yeah, I suppose you're right. Your mother would probably be surprised if I showed up suddenly…and perhaps not too happy to see me," that is understatement. Freddie _knows_ that his mother would be through the roof. He'd read her diary and she'd never even mentioned his father to him at all at any point in his life. If he was naïve, and probably retarded, he has no doubt she would try to tell him that he was naturally born without a father. He just magically appeared one day or fell from the sky or something like that. He can't tell his father that he knows what happened though. He wants to hear his father's side of the story without any influence from his mother's words. He needs to hear the whole tale from both people, unadulterated and true to their perspectives. That way, he'll really know what's going on, and not just some warped, twisted version of it.

"Yeah, it's a big possibility," Freddie says, a nervous chuckle on the end of his voice. Is this the right place to add humour?

"So where should I meet you?"

"How about the Northwest location of Groovy Smoothie? I go to it a lot. It's really nice," Freddie suggests.

"Sounds good. What would be a good time?" Dennis asks, his voice cheerful and hopeful.

"How about Friday afternoon at three?" the time is perfect. School ends at two thirty and the show isn't until seven. Carly and Sam will be practising in the studio (and watching cartoons) like they always do right up until the show starts and since Freddie is just the tech producer, he isn't really needed. He'll be able to talk with his Dad for hours with no fear of being interrupted. His heart beats faster in pure excitement and he clutches the phone a little tighter in his hand, anticipating his father's response.

"That sounds perfect, Freddie. Look, I have to go now. One of my partners is here and we have some business to take care of. I'll talk to you soon, okay?" Dennis says. He sounds a little distracted, but his words are still honest and Freddie totally understands.

"Sure thing. Talk to you soon!" the line goes dead again and Freddie hangs up as well, placing the phone back in his pocket. He tries to concentrate on his homework, but his eyes drift to the calendar hanging on his wall. He removes himself from his desk and paces over to where it is. It is Wednesday. In two days, he'll be sitting at a table drinking Strawberry Splats with his Dad. He'll finally get to see his face. He imagines warm brown eyes and a slightly wrinkled smile, large hands and broad shoulders. They'll talk about anything and everything and Freddie simply cannot wait.

_~iCarly~_

Two days later, Freddie stares at his reflection in a shiny window from outside the Groovy Smoothie. He looks like he always does, short brown hair and thin brown eyes, a mouth that, today, he just can't keep a smile off of, nondescript polo shirt and jeans, random, slightly scuffed sneakers. He smoothes his hair back with the palms of his hands, running his fingers through it at the end. Feeling self conscious, he repeats this action a few times until his hair is neat against his head. It's a little stupid, he'll admit, this last minute grooming in the spotless windows of his favourite drink shop, and he has, on occasion, asked Carly why she does it. She responded it was because she didn't want to look _bad_ which he doesn't understand partly because they were going no where special and partly because Carly is incapable of looking bad anyway. He's starting to get it now, though. First impressions are important, and there is no way Freddie is screwing his up.

When he finally decides he looks decent, the boy saunters into the Groovy Smoothie. Surprisingly, there aren't many people here. There are a few old couples and some kids who he has seen at his school but never talks to and whose names he doesn't know and probably vice versa. He does not spot anyone who could possibly be his father, but that's okay because it's ten minutes before they're supposed to meet anyway. Freddie just couldn't keep his excitement in and he headed straight here from school instead of walking home with Carly like he sometimes does. He heads to the counter, orders two Strawberry Splats, one for him and one for his father, refuses a hot dog on a stick, refuses it again, refuses it again, and then finally gives in and buys one. He takes the smoothies and hotdog to the table, amuses himself with the patterns in the floor while he eats, and waits patiently for his father.

After about eight minutes the door swings open and Freddie turns his head quickly to see who is coming in. It's just a mother and her four year old child. Dejected, he turns back to his half empty smoothie and wonders if his Dad will be late. It would be okay if he is. He's only in town for a job, after all, so he probably has that to attend to. Feeling a little subdued, Freddie sips forlornly at his drink, but when he hears the door open he turns his head as quick as ever. And there, there is a man who Freddie is _sure_ he came from. He is tall and lean, with dark hair and a wide mouth. His eyes are thin, much like Freddie's own, and his jaw line is so similar to the boy's that it's eerie. The man looks around before pinpointing his son and strides over to the table. A little stupidly, Freddie stands up in his presence. He wonders why he does that, maybe he's awestruck or something, but it feels dumb and right all at the same time. The man extends a hand forward, and Freddie shakes it, weakly at first, but then strengthens his grip as he remembers who he is dealing with, and smiles widely.

"Hello, Freddie," the man says. His voice has the same rich, gravelly quality that Freddie has come to know from the phone calls but it sounds so much better in person.

"H-hi, Dad," he says back. There is a moment of silence in which they simply take in each other, before Freddie gestures to the seat across from him. "Here, I bought you a smoothie – Strawberry Splat. It's my favourite and I figured maybe you'd like it too.

"Thanks, kid," he smiles, taking a sip. "It's good."

Freddie beams, glad that his father likes this about him, even if it is just a smoothie choice, and the two sit and talk for hours.

They talk about everything a father and son can. They discuss Freddie's grades, what subjects he likes in school, what his teacher does and crazy incidents he's had in and out of school. Freddie considers telling him he was hit by a taco truck saving Carly at one point, but soon decides that he doesn't want to worry his father with stories like that. Maybe he'll tell him later, but he wants to keep conversation light hearted and humorous for now.

His Dad is speaking, telling him about something funny that happened at work a few weeks ago and Freddie hangs on to every word. As he watches his father talk he takes in everything about him. His face has a few wrinkles, but nothing too obvious and it's only noticeable because Freddie is staring so hard. Short, dark curls lie jumbled on top of his head, a few tendrils hanging down onto his forehead, but none of them reaching his taupe eyes. There is a small stud in one of his ears, probably left over from his days a 'bad boy' as Mrs. Benson had described him. His nose is a little pointed, his mouth split into a wide smile as he speaks, revealing a row of a little crooked slightly off white teeth. He has a strong chin with a little stubble on it, a longish neck and broad shoulders on which a leather jacket hangs. It is probably real leather, anyway, black and worn with a few chains here and there. It is just a fashion choice, Freddie decides. His Dad wouldn't be part of some gang or something. Maybe he was sort of in one when he was younger, considering what Freddie's mother had said about him, but that didn't matter now. The man has definitely gone straight. Under the jacket is a plain, dark copper t-shirt. It has obviously been washed a few times, giving it a rather used, but comfortable look. His jeans are mostly concealed under the table, but Freddie had gotten a good look at them before he sat down. They are loose and light blue, with a slight rip in the left knee. Something makes Freddie suspect they were darker before, and that they have faded from being worn and washed over and over again. His shoes are a lot like his son's, brand less, run of the mill sneakers that have seen better days. They are a little dusty and dirty with scuff marks. So overall, his father's fashion sense isn't very special. It has a certain laid back feel to it, and there is definitely a lot of influence left over from when he was younger: the earring and the jacket mostly, but the faded jeans and T-shirt kind of tip him off too. It is no matter, anyway. Freddie honestly wouldn't have cared what his father looks like. He could have walked in wearing anything from a designer suit to a McDonalds uniform, to a hobo's outfit. He would have admired him anyway. When Freddie laughs in response to his Dad's latest joke he can only hope that as his father takes him in, he approves of his son as much as the son approves of his father.

_~iCarly~_

"Where's Freddie?" Carly half shouts nervously, pacing back and forth in front of the kitchen counter. Sam looks up from where she sits on the couch, munching on what appears to be a turkey leg and half watching _Spongebob Squarepants_. She doesn't understand why Spongebob devotes so much of his time to catching that blue jellyfish. He should just shoot it. It would make things a lot easier.

"Why do you care so much? We don't even need him here," the blonde mumbles lazily, taking a large bite of marinated meat.

"Because he usually comes here at least two hours before the show starts. He sets up all his techy stuff while we practice. It's routine!" Carly exclaims, pausing to take a swig from the wrinkled plastic bottle in her hand. It's flavoured water and it's supposed to be raspberry flavoured, but instead the taste is arid, that of regular water. At least it's cold.

"Relax, he probably just off getting some new wire or something. He doesn't need to be here for another hour and a half anyway," Sam replies, completely unconcerned. As the end credits roll she stands up and heads to the refrigerator again. She is sure she saw some cold ham at the back beside the chocolate sauce and the two might make a decent combination.

"Yeah, I guess you're right, but Sam, have you noticed anything strange about Freddie lately?" Carly asks hesitantly. She knows that she promised to trust him at lunch on Wednesday, but something still feels wrong and she is dying to know what's been happening.

"No. He's still a dork," Sam says, pulling the large slab of pink meat off the shelf and thunking it down on the counter.

"Yeah, but has he been… I don't know, distant or weird or something?" Carly suggests. Her eyes are fixed on Sam's latest snack. That was going to be dinner. Whatever, they'll just order pizza or something. She doesn't like ham that much anyway.

"Well he's always weird, and I don't know about you but I try to keep that kid as distant as possible. The further he is away, the better," Sam replies, not looking up from the mass of meat on the counter. It is quickly being engulfed in chocolate sauce. Delicious.

"Sam…" Carly says disapprovingly. She never expected a nicer answer, but she still feels the need to at least acknowledge that Sam insulted her friend.

"Well it's true!" Sam defends herself. She pulls a steak knife out of the drawer and cuts off a slab, sticking it with a fork and then stuffing it in her mouth before the chocolate sauce has the chance to drip off. It still slides onto her chin but she wipes it away quickly with the back of her hand. The savoury ham and sweet chocolate sauce blend together in her mouth. Other people might think it's gross, but to her, it's delicious. Chocolate and meat, her two favourite foods. What more could she ask for? "Anyway, you worry too much. Freddie's fine. He's probably just going through a Freddie phase. I don't know."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Carly responds. She stares at Sam's snack again. This should gross her out more than it does, but after being with Sam for this many years, it really doesn't. "Is that good?" She asks, gesturing to the grotesque masterpiece currently dirtying her kitchen counter. She'll have to clean that up later.

"Yeah, you want some?" Sam offers, holding out one chocolate drenched chunk of ham on a fork. Carly almost bats it away.

"No, I'm good," she says, retreating to the couch. _Fairly Odd Parents_ is on. She likes that show.

"Your loss," Sam manages to say through a mouthful of food. "More for me." And somehow Carly is perfectly fine with that.

_~iCarly~_

"…Yeah, and then her mom drove the car straight through the wall and bowled down my locker!" Freddie exclaims, detailing the story of him and Sam sharing a locker. His father laughs out loud at it, apparently enjoying a good schadenfreuden story. Somehow, Freddie is okay with that. He's laughing too because really, it is a good story.

"You know, something like that happened to me a while back. Of course, it wasn't nearly as dramatic as your story, but you know," Dennis smiles. Freddie nods, urging him to go on. He subconsciously plays with the smoothie cup in his hands – his second smoothie because about fifteen minutes both of them finished their Strawberry Splats and Tebo started looking at them funny, so Dennis had bought a new round of smoothies, Mango Mashes this time, and the two made sure to drink them really slowly so as to be allowed to stay longer. The man takes a small sip of his drink and is about to continue when Freddie's phone chimes. He is about to ignore it when he realizes it is six thirty and the show starts in half an hour.

"Sorry, I just gotta check this," he says to his father. Dennis doesn't seem to mind but Freddie still feels really bad for cutting him off. It's disrespectful to ignore someone's company when they are physically right with you in favour of checking a text message from someone who is no where near you at the moment, especially if the person you are ignoring is your parent. Still, this is probably important, so Freddie digs his Pearphone out of his pocket and reads his latest message. Predictably, it comes from a seemingly very worried and frazzled Carly who is freaking out at him because the show starts in half an hour and he is no where in sight.

"Everything okay?" his father asks, drinking from his chewed straw. There is a slurping noise as the straw meets air along with blended fruit at the bottom of his cup. He's almost finished drinking. So is Freddie actually; it's mostly just foam at the bottom now.

"Yeah, I just have to meet Carly and Sam for iCarly pretty soon, so I'll have to go," he admits. He thinks he sees disappointment in his father's eyes, but it might just be a trick of the light or a misinterpretation.

"Alright, kid. That's cool. I'll be in Seattle for a while actually; this job is bigger than I originally thought. We can meet again really soon. When are you free?"

Freddie's eyes light up. "Um, I'm not really sure. I have AV club and the Junior Bow and Arrow Club and the Mathletes, but I really can skip any of those. I don't care."

"Well I wouldn't want to pull you away from your extra curriculars," Dennis drawls.

"No, no, it's really okay. I mean, I just joined all those clubs so I'd have something to do but I'd much rather spend time talking to you," and it's true. Freddie would drop every single one of those clubs in heart beat, without a shadow of a doubt or a hint of regret, to spend time with his Dad.

"If you're sure," Dennis says slowly. He stands up, rolling his shoulders because they are tight from him being in the same position for so long. "We could have lunch tomorrow."

Freddie mentally checks his schedule, but he knows he'll be giving up whatever he has planned in favour of meeting with his Dad. He was supposed to meet up with Sam and Carly to discuss next weeks episode, but they never take his ideas seriously anyway. They consider him to unfunny or whatever, so there really is no point in him being there. He'll just have to call and cancel or something. Whatever, they don't need him anyway.

"Lunch sounds great," he tells his father, already incredibly excited. He stands as well, and picks up his and his Dad's smoothie cup, intending to throw them out.

"Alright then, I'll see you tomorrow at Chilli My Bowl," Dennis says. He stares at his son for a moment.

"Okay, I'll be there," Freddie confirms.

"Oh, and one more thing," his father moves his hand to the top of Freddie's head, still a few inches lower down than his own, and musses up his hair. The strands fly out messily, giving him a look a little more like his father's. "Don't smooth your hair out like that; it makes you look too formal." Then he steps back a bit, bringing a hand to his chin and assessing his work. He tousles it one more time for good measure and then grins. "Perfect."

Freddie looks up at him and smiles. Unlike most boys his age, he is completely okay with his parent fixing his hair. Well, maybe he wouldn't be this okay with it if it were his mom, but she insists on making it _way_ too neat. He likes that his dad is this laid back. And maybe he would look better with messy hair. "Thanks, Dad."

He paces over to where the garbage is and tosses in the cups. "You'll be watching the show tonight, right?" Freddie asks.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Kiddo," Dennis assures him.

"Cool," then, because iCarly starts in only twenty minutes and it takes ten minutes to walk home, Freddie dashes out the door. Carly will have his head on a stick. Seriously he's feeling a little scared because when she gets mad she gets mad and he's definitely going to get an earful… but that's okay. Looking over his shoulder, he sees just a glance of the scene beyond the shiny glass windows. His father is standing by the table, talking on his phone while leaning, on a chair beside him. The heel of his hand is pressed directly against its thin back, probably digging into his skin but he doesn't seem to mind. His eyes are fixed on his son as he runs down the street and an unmistakeable smile is plastered on his face.

The wind is a little wild outside and it runs invisible fingers through Freddie's hair, reminding him of his father's fingers doing a similar thing back in the restaurant. It's a pleasant feeling and a pleasant day and Freddie just can't wait for tomorrow.

**AN: I hope the pacing is alright. I tend to have a problem in that area. And don't worry, it gets more exciting later.**


	5. iBar

"Freddie, where the heck were you?" Carly shouts as she flings open the door and drags a terrified technical producer inside. "Sam and I have been waiting forever and the show starts in ten minutes!"

"I'm sorry Carly, it's just," a pause, "…something came up," he finishes lamely.

"Freddie, you –" Carly starts.

"But I'm here now!" the boy raises his hands and offers a fake smile. "And we'd better get upstairs if we don't want to miss the show."

Carly stares him down before answering, "yeah, you're right. C'mon, Sam's waiting for us in the studio…and she's ticked. You might wanna shield your face when we get up there."

"Ha ha…yeah…" he titters nervously as he follows his friend up the stairs. He's probably in for a beating, but at least he's here on time.

_

* * *

_

"Great show, guys," Freddie offers as the three head down the steps. His hand is pressed to his shoulder, nursing a wound that might actually bruise. Sam hit him a lot harder than usual, obviously very angry that he'd been so late. It wasn't his fault really…but they can't know that.

"Yeah, great show that almost didn't happen," Carly grouches, yanking open the fridge and removing the ice tea. She's acting angrier than she actually is because she thinks it might make Freddie feel guilty. She's usually not the manipulative type, but once in a while, an exception must be made. The show went great, absolutely without a hitch, and she supposes that Freddie didn't need to show up earlier. It's just the worry he's been causing her lately…that's what makes her slam the pitcher on the counter, cold liquid sloshing down the sides and over her hand. Freddie flinches at the display – it's a lot more violent than he's ever seen Carly be. His eyes follow her as she mumbles something under her breath and rinses off her fingers in kitchen sink.

"Look Carly, I'm sorry. It won't happen again, okay?" the boy promises. He catches her eye as she turns away from the sink and his apology seems sincere. How could she not relent?

She does, obviously, because Carly is a forgiving girl and finds it incredibly difficult to stay mad at her friends for too long. "Okay, as long as you promise."

"I do."

"Good, because if you don't I'll break your face," Sam interjects. She has stolen the jug of iced tea and seems to be contemplating drinking straight from it. The girl has some manners though, so she pours it into a large blue cup instead. She sips from it, sampling it even though it's the same kind of iced tea she has been drinking for years and then, casually sauntering over to where Freddie stands, she pauses for a moment and throws it in his face.

"What the heck!" he cries, covering his eyes belatedly and trying to blink the beverage away. "What was that for?"

"For almost missing the show, you nub," she explains, pouring herself another glass of iced tea, this time for drinking purposes.

"Well I said I was sorry!" his eyes are still stinging as his tries to dab at them with the sleeve of his polo shirt.

"Yeah well, I guess I just don't like you," Sam replies lazily and takes a very self satisfied sip of her iced cold drink.

"I gotta go change this shirt. Thanks a lot, Sam," he looks up to glare pointedly at her.

"No problem, Fredork," she quips, reaching a hand into the fruit bowl on the counter and pulling out a Fat Cake she hid there three days ago. Carly shoots Freddie an apologetic look from behind the counter and he smiles back slightly before taking himself and his dripping shirt through the front door.

The phone in his pants vibrates as soon as he closes the door to his room. Digging it out of his pocket, he touches it to brighten the screen and stares expectantly at the message notification. It's a new text from Dennis telling him that he saw the show and loved it as always. Freddie smiles and sends a reply before yanking off his shirt and replacing it with a new one. He'd love to stay in his room and text his father in peace, but he already almost blew off Sam and Carly today and they're waiting for him in Carly's kitchen. They'd probably get angry and suspicious all over again and that's not something he needs to deal with now. Speaking of things he doesn't want to deal with now…he is not sure whether or not to tell them he can't make tomorrow's brainstorm session. They only just forgave him for nearly being late and even though the show is much more important than a few hours of coming up with ideas, they'll probably be ticked that he's missing it. Maybe the best plan of action would be to leave it until tomorrow, give them some time to cool down even more. Plus, he just changed his shirt and he doesn't want iced tea on this one too.

_

* * *

_

Saturday at eleven thirty, Freddie fires off a quick text message to Carly telling her that he can't make it to the brainstorming session, and leaves the apartment to meet his Dad at Chilli My Bowl, hair perfectly mussed. He tries to look a little cooler as he struts down the street, but he knows there's a gay little bounce in his step anyway. It's not his fault that he's so freaking happy. He's finally met his Dad, come on.

This time, when Freddie walks through the tacky red doors he sees his father sitting at one of the tables near the back. There's a large bowl of spicy beef chilli steaming in front of him, but he doesn't touch it. When he spots his son he waves him over casually, gesturing to the seat beside him and smiling.

"Hey," Freddie greets him when he reaches the table. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting."

"Not at all," Dennis replies, staring at the bubbling mess of beans in front of him. "I've been trying to get up the nerve to eat this thing. I like chilli, but they may or may not have been mixing it with a toilet plunger."

"Oh, that's normal," Freddie shrugs. "I'm just glad it's only the toilet plunger today."

"There's been worse?" his Dad asks, clearly disgusted…yet amused.

"Much worse," Freddie stands up. "I'm gonna get some for myself." When he's just about at the counter his phone buzzes. Stepping to the side, he pulls it out of his pocket and lights up the screen, reading his latest text message. It's from Carly, predictably, asking him what's so important that he needs to miss another iCarly thing. If he responded now, she'd probably text back again and he doesn't need interruptions during his only time with his Dad. Perhaps a little rudely, he turns off his phone and shoves it into his pocket without replying at all. He has more important things to do.

By the time they've both finished lunch, it's one fifteen. They would have finished sooner, but they kept pausing to talk, of course, and also to fish various things out of their chilli. Dennis found hair and a fake nail, but Freddie found a band-aid, so he won. They seem to show up in almost every meal he buys. Maybe he should start brown bagging when he goes to restaurants too.

"It's a wonder they haven't shut this place down," Dennis comments, pushing his tray in front of him to signal that he is finished. Freddie nods in agreement, and is about to say something when the man glances at his watch and looks up, eyes a little worried. "Sorry, I gotta go now actually." There was a hint of a smile on his son's face, but it quickly disappears. "But we can meet up this Tuesday for dinner, okay? Seven o'clock and I'll text you the place."

Freddie mentally checks his schedule once again. Tuesday is the first iCarly rehearsal of the week. They meet at five thirty and it lasts until whenever. He can probably go to first the seventy five minutes or so…that'll be enough time, right? It doesn't matter anyway. "Yeah, I'm free. It sounds good," and the smile finds its way back onto his face.

"Alright, see you then," Dennis says, standing up and grabbing the familiar leather jacket off the back of his chair. He shrugs into it, looking as cool as a man in his thirties can, and heads for the door, offering a small wave over his shoulder as he walks out.

_

* * *

_

Monday, Freddie is about to leave his locker to head to his next class when he feels a sharp jab at his shoulder blade. Turning around, he comes face to face with a very annoyed looking Carly.

"Carly, hi," he smiles widely. It is so obviously fake and he has no idea why he's pretending he's not in trouble. He knows exactly what he did and the look on his friend's face speaks of pure irritation.

"Freddie," she grinds out from between perfect teeth. Her lips are glossy and pretty as always, but they're pulled into a frown. It doesn't suit her face nearly as well as her usual smile. "Where were you?"

"What do you mean?" he asks nonchalantly. Yup, he's gonna do this the hard way.

"I mean on Saturday when you were _supposed_ to be at my place helping plan for iCarly. You never showed up and instead you sent me a lame text message _and_ you never even responded to text asking where the heck you were!" her voice raises near the end, drawing some heads to look in their direction, but she shoots them a look either saying "it's cool, nothing to see here" or "keep looking and I'll slice you to ribbons and hang your remains by the ceiling fan". With girls, it's hard to tell.

"Something came up again and I'm really sorry about that, but you didn't need me there anyway," he turns to his locker and starts spinning the combination again, even though there is nothing he needs in there. He just doesn't want to have to face Carly during this conversation.

"What do you mean 'we don't need you there'?" he doesn't need to look at her to know she is confused and angry. "Didn't we have that whole episode with you complaining about Sam not saying you're important? Everyone knows that you are just as much a part of iCarly as Sam and me and that means you need to come to the brainstorming sessions."

Freddie turns to look at her. She crosses her arms and flips her hair, the picture of impatience. He rolls his tongue in his mouth a few times, takes a deep breath, and peers inside his locker again. He wants to say something…but is it too insensitive? Carly makes an unhappy noise and the comment he's been holding is out of his mouth before he can stop it. "Well maybe I'd feel like a part of the show if you guys listened to what I have to say."

"Excuse me," Carly says, taken aback. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well it's just that whenever I have an idea you and Sam tell me that it's lame or you ignore me completely. Maybe I'd feel more inclined to go to these things if you guys actually considered anything I have to say," he glances at her quickly. She has the most frightening glare he's ever seen – look her in the eyes for too long and he might explode. Seriously.

"Wait, so you're saying this is our fault?" she accuses. It's not what he meant to say, but she isn't so far off the marker. He did kind of imply that, didn't he?

"No! That's not it at all!" he cries. His mind is turning, fumbling for some sort of explanation that he can't give. Should he tell her the truth? No. Does he want to lie to her? No! What can he do to keep the peace between them without letting her know what's going on? He racks his brain for something to say.

"Then what is it?" her eyes are blazing. He knows it's concerned anger, which makes him even more guilty. Freddie opens his mouth to say something, but he has no idea what, so he is silent instead. "Can't tell me again?" Carly spits, tilting her head expectantly. She is so disappointed in him it is tangible.

"No," Freddie admits, looking at the ground. He turns his back to his locker, so Carly is on his right side instead of his left, and leans backward, effectively closing the door. He can't look her in the eye.

She stares at him and considers asking what is going on again, but they've already had this conversation before. "Whatever it is, just don't let it get in the way of iCarly," and with that, she turns her back and walks away. Relief, guilt, disappointment and sadness flood through Freddie's veins all at once. She's off his back for now, but he has a feeling they won't exactly be on friendly terms until he can make it up to her. Maybe do really well at an iCarly rehearsal or something. Only problem is, he'll probably be leaving early on Tuesday. That's gonna be hard to get around. He sighs deeply, but remembers it's all for his Dad. And somehow, that thought seems to make everything better.

_

* * *

_

"Well look who showed up?" Carly sneers when Freddie opens the door to her apartment the next day.

"I told you I'd be here at lunch, remember?" Freddie shifts his laptop in his arms uncomfortably.

"Yeah well, with you, I never know anymore," she turns slowly and takes a few steps to the stairs. Sam is already up there, probably eating things she's found on the carpet.

"I said I was sorry, Carly, okay?" he says a little bitterly as he trails her up the stairs. Maybe it's not his place to act even the slightest bit impatient, considering it was _him_ blowing off his friends. Still, no one likes to be spoken to like that.

"Okay," she replies, her voice a little warmer than it was a few seconds ago. "Let's just get this started then." It's not a lot as far as getting past anger goes, but it's an improvement and Freddie will take what he can get.

Overall, the rehearsal goes well. Freddie has all the graphics, animations, pictures, videos, and timing down pat. Carly and Sam have a little difficulty saying their lines, though, because apparently they thought it'd be a good idea to write most of them as alliterations. When they go through it a second time, Freddie laughs at a few jokes and mess-ups but spends a lot of time staring at the clock. He has about fifteen minutes left before he should leave and he considers giving them the notice a little in advance. Then, watching them giggle and try to get their lines right, he decides not to interrupt. They don't need him here right now and at least he can tell them he'll be leaving early in person. Really, this rehearsal isn't too important and they're still getting the actual presentation worked out, so he should be able to leave without a problem…right?

He finds out when the clock strikes six forty-five and his phone vibrates in his pocket. Freddie digs it out eagerly and stares at the screen. It is a text from Dennis, reminding him that they are meeting at the McDonalds on Centre Street.

"Who's that from?" Carly asks suspiciously when Freddie stares at it for a little longer than necessary.

"Huh? Oh…it's just from my mom. I have to go now, actually, sorry. She needs me to pick up some groceries," he manages to make out. He hates lying and he's awful at it.

"Oh well, then," Carly gives him a look that is somewhere between a curious stare and a glare. "I guess you'd better go." Her words are forced.

"Yeah, you guys will be okay without me, right?" he asks. He knows they'll tell him they'll be alright. There is no reason for him to stay.

"Yeah, we'll be fine," Carly says, her voice so frosty Freddie can swear he just felt the room's temperature drop a few degrees.

"Okay then, catch you later," he responds, grabbing his laptop and ducking out the door. He ditches it at the apartment and dashes down the steps, ignoring Lewbert's unintelligible screams as he crosses the newly mopped lobby floors. The sky outside is thick and cloudy, threatening rain, possibly sleet, Freddie shivers at the idea. There is no way he is going to be caught outside in the sleet _again. _Still, nothing could keep him from going to meet his Dad, so shoves the front doors open and steps out into the cold Seattle air, thankful his hoodie is warm. The wind blows his hair back and forth as he races along the sidewalk, determined to get to McDonald's by seven.

If he had stopped and looked up he might have seen the iCarly studio's wide window facing the street. If he had looked closer, he might have noticed the thin silhouette with long, dark hair watching him from said window, and if he had squinted and stared hard, he might have been able to make out her facial expression: brows furrowed and mouth twisted into a disappointed and worried frown, because if he were going to the grocery store, Freddie would have taken a left turn instead of a right one. He's lying to her about this too, and she _knows_.

* * *

"I'd better be going now," Freddie says, crumpling up his cheeseburger wrapper and sticking it in his empty fry box. He finished without finding a single band-aid in his food. Score.

"Actually, I was thinking of taking you somewhere else after this," Dennis suggests, sipping ice cube diluted root beer from his chewed up straw.

"Oh really?" Freddie asks, confused. It's already nine o'clock…they finished eating about an hour ago but since then they've just been talking. What place would be still be open?

"Yeah, wait, what time does your mom get back?" Dennis learned a while ago that his ex girlfriend works as a nurse, frequently taking night shifts. He's a little surprised because she always seemed like the kind of person to lock herself in the house after ten o'clock…that is, until he got to her. Well, whatever.

"Eleven," Freddie answers, very unsure of what's going to happen next.

"Good," his father drawls. He stands up, his chair sliding back noisily against the ceramic floors. Freddie follows his example, though he pushes the chair back quietly. "C'mon, it's just around the corner." He walks briskly toward the door and Freddie pauses for a moment before stumbling to catch up. What's around the corner? He feels the need to ask, but it's an unnecessary question. They'll be there in no time at all and he doesn't want to annoy his Dad with pointless inquiries like that. He follows close behind his father as he saunters down the cracked downtown sidewalk. The night is dark, the sun long gone from the sky. Only the streetlights and neon signs serve to illuminate the path they are walking down. There is not enough light to show him where all the cracks and random rises in the concrete are, so he trips over a particularly large one. Dennis glances back for a moment, but then keeps walking. Freddie feels the blood rise to his cheeks, embarrassed, but he can blame it on the cold air.

A few minutes later they reach a dark building in a mild state of disrepair. The paint has chipped off the wall in places, one of the windows is cracked, and the floor is spotted with stains. A neon sign reading "The Stumble In" blinks on and off above the door. Freddie can't tell if it's an old sign about to go out or if it was made that way.

"This is it," Dennis announces proudly, gesturing to the building. Freddie blinks and tilts his head, trying to assess the situation.

"Wait, isn't this…a bar?" he asks, turning to glance at his Dad. The man looks at him, and then back to the building.

"You bet," he responds, perhaps unsure of what else to say.

"I'm a minor; isn't this illegal?" Freddie observes his father closely. What is he thinking right now, bringing his son to a bar?

"It's okay, I know the owner. He's cool. Besides, you don't have to drink anything. I just figured I'd show you around."

"Alright," Freddie replies slowly. Maybe he's being ungrateful. There are so many kids who would kill to have a Dad as cool as his. Seriously, how many fathers would take their kids to a freaking bar? Pretty much none. He should be overjoyed at this. He follows Dennis through the door, stepping onto dirty floors and staring in wonder. So _this_ is what a bar looks like. He's seen bar sets on television, but he's never actually been in one. There are a few booths and tables, as well as a long counter directly in front of the bar keeper, a medium sized man in his forties who is currently mixing drinks at a little table near the back. He turns around and glances questioningly at the fifteen year old boy, but upon seeing Dennis he smiles.

"So that's your son, huh?" he inquires, already pouring the man's usual, a tumbler of straight up scotch.

"Yup, Freddie himself," Dennis grins, striding up to the counter and taking a sip of scotch. "Say hi, Freddie," he pushes his son forward from where he was standing. "Um, hi…Mr…"

"Mr. McLaren, but you can call me Pete," he extends his hand and Freddie shakes it, a little hesitantly.

"Nice to meet you, Pete," he greets, probably the most polite greeting the man's gotten working at a bar.

"You too. You want a Seven Up or something?" Pete asks, gesturing to the cans of pop on the table behind him.

"No, I'm good, thanks," Freddie replies. He doesn't want anything right now, except for maybe to feel more comfortable in this setting. He doesn't want to leave his Dad, but he feels like a police officer will wander in at any moment and he'll be in so much trouble. He glances around the room nervously. As far as he can tell, there are a few hobos, some college aged kids, and a group of men in their forties who appear to be on their second round of beer. None of them look like they could be cops, but he's probably being paranoid anyway. Some kind of indie rock music floats through the just-warm-enough air, which has the distinct smell of alcohol. The music is okay, the smell and sights, not so much, but overall, there are worse places Freddie could be on a Tuesday night…like at home getting chewed out by his mother if she ever finds out that not only is he out _way_ past curfew, but he is with his father who she probably never wants to see again and he's at a bar. Freddie gulps nervously at that very thought.

"Here, Freddie," his Dad says to him suddenly, sliding the glass of scotch to the seat next to him, currently occupied by his son. "Have some; it's good."

Freddie glances at his father and then at the half full tumbler in front of him. He's only just turned sixteen and should definitely not be drinking alcohol, but his Dad offered it to him. That gives him parental permission and his Dad seems to really want him to try it. He wouldn't want to disappoint him or have him think he son is uncool or something. So with that, he raises the glass and takes a slow sip. It's bitter and burns at his throat. He almost sputters, but manages to choke it down. It has the strangest aftertaste, and Freddie is pretty sure he doesn't like it. It's still hard to say though, because something about is inexplicable tasty. He smiles and slides the glass back over to his father. "It's good," he says, and his father takes another swig.

Just then, four men about Dennis' age swagger into the bar. They're all tall and walk like they own the place. The first one to come in, a guy with a large nose and short, dark hair plops himself down next to Freddie's father.

"Dennis!" he drawls, patting the man on the back. "I thought I'd find you here. Didn't know you'd be packing a kid though. He yours?" His friends sit down next to him and one of them waves Pete over, asking for beers for the four of them.

"Yeah, he's mine," Dennis replies, ruffling Freddie's hair. He does that a lot, but Freddie doesn't mind at all. It's a gesture of affection he's been greatly lacking all his life.

"A little short, isn't he?" the man farthest from him comments. His has a tanned body, despite the lack of sun in the winter, and a single gold hoop glistens from his left ear.

"He's still got a couple years on him. He'll grow," Dennis assures him. "So what have you been up to while I've been gone?"

"You know, same old same old," gold hoop replies easily, swishing the beer around in his mug. "And you, what've you been travelling around for?"

"You know, the usual…business," Dennis takes another gulp of scotch. The tumbler is almost empty.

"Ah, business," big nose nods. He winks subtly, leaving Freddie very confused. Since when was selling health care some sort of secretive, wink worthy business? It doesn't make sense. He decides not to ask, though, and sits quietly on the uncomfortable stool, listening to their conversations, and turning over the night's events in his mind.

_

* * *

_

"Sorry I can't stay longer, Fellas," Dennis sighs about an hour later. He stands up and stretches his arms. Freddie hops off the bar stool, looking rather little kiddish the way only he can. "His mother gets back at eleven and I don't want to risk her seeing Freddie outside."

"Alright, see ya later, Dennis," one of the guys shouts. He has a wide mouth filled with crooked teeth and his voice is always unusually loud. Dennis waves over his shoulder back at him as he escorts Freddie out of the bar. They walk back to the McDonalds where they first met up when Dennis stops.

"I don't know the way back to your apartment, so you'd better go alone," he tells his son. "You wouldn't want to risk your mom seeing me around anyway and besides, my ride's here." Dennis cocks his head toward the parking lot, which is so dimly lit that Freddie can't see what he's gesturing at. 'Wouldn't want you mom seeing me around'? Freddie would be dead if she saw either of them wandering around outside the apartment at night. She'd probably lock him up in the apartment either way, to keep him safe from Dennis or prevent him from walking around at night again.

"O-okay," he agrees. He's seriously going to walk through down town at night? It's dark and there are dangerous people lurking around. Something about it screams 'bad idea!' at him.

"Cool. I'll text you when I get home," Dennis smiles. He disappears into the darkness of the parking lot and Freddie turns to the direction his apartment building is. He'll just run…really, really fast. That way, he probably won't get beat up…or would running attract thugs? He's not sure, but when he hears metal crashing in an alleyway near where he is he decides it doesn't matter; he's running. He takes off faster than he ever has before, dark streets blurring before him in a blackened haze. The side walk is still uneven but he manages to keep from tripping over anything. His veins are filled with adrenaline and he feels like he could jump a bus. Of course, right now he's more interested in getting home safe than clearing large automobiles. The pure energy pushes him forward and he keeps running, never letting up for a second.

When his apartment building comes into view, Freddie lets out a breath he wasn't even aware he was holding. He races in, leaving muddy foot prints on the lobby floor. Lewbert screams again, but Freddie has never cared less. He bolts up the stairs, still in a panic, but decides it would be best to pause and take a breather before he gets to his and Carly's floor. The last thing he needs is for her to see him red and sweaty from running so much. He would never be able to lie himself out of that one. He sits on the blue carpeted steps, elbows on his knees and head in his hands as he tries to figure out what just happened. His father took him to a bar, okay, and suggested he drink alcohol, okay. Those are not things normal dads do…but Freddie has always known his Dad would be special. He thinks on it for a second, and then his phone vibrates. It's a new text from Dennis, he sees, upon pulling it out of his pocket. It asks if he had fun. Freddie thinks about it for a moment, and replies that yeah, he did. He waits on the steps for a few moments more, and decides to start walking again only when his pulse is back to normal. He swallows heavily, dehydrated, and places two fingers at his neck. His heartbeat has slowed down considerably, though it's still a little faster than usual. He stands up, deciding it is close enough, and heads up the rest of the stairs.

"So, what took so long?" a feminine voice asks him as Freddie drags himself to his apartment's front door. His steps are low to the ground, as if someone has fastened weights to his ankles. He is not sweating anymore because of the hall's low temperature, but his complexion is still tinged pink. He turns around slowly to see Carly leaning against her doorframe, arms crossed and lips pursed, demanding an explanation.

"What?" he asks stupidly. He is _so_ tired. All he wants to do is collapse into bed and sleep for a day. He burned off all his energy racing through down town.

"What do you mean 'what'?" Carly drops her arms and takes a step forward. "It doesn't take that long to pick up groceries, and you don't even have any with you. Did you get mugged or something?" the sarcasm in her voice is crystal clear. No, he hasn't gotten mugged, but he definitely might have if he had walked home instead of running.

"No," he answers, turning around and shoving his key into the lock on the door.

"Then what's happening?" she asks. God, could she get any more nosey? This isn't her situation to deal with; it's his, and she needs to butt out of it.

"Nothing, okay,?" he says as he pushes his door open. There is no annoyance in his words, surprisingly. They come out gentle and reassuring. Still, Freddie wants this conversation to be over fast. He needs to get inside and finish some homework…screw it. He's dead tired and it's not due until Thursday. "Besides, didn't we already have this discussion? You don't need to worry. Everything is fine." He pauses and turns around, facing the girl directly. "Good night, Carly."

"Night, Freddie," she says resignedly and heads back into her own apartment, half slamming the door. Freddie slowly closes his own. He can't believe she actually waited for him to come home…that's creepy and unnecessary. He thought about bringing it up but that would make the conversation span that much longer. He doesn't like the thought of that. Yawning, he takes off his shoes and trudges to his bedroom. He manages enough energy to change into his pyjamas, but he's too tired to do anything else. He turns off the light and climbs into bed, asleep even before his head hits the pillow.


End file.
